Sycamores grow in the long planted rows
out there to break the April wind
still the dust, it always grows
in our eyes and in our clothes
and it's in our very souls
like this song about me and Jim.
Chorus:
Me and Jim getting thin,
oh, fare-thee-well to him;
fare-the-well now Mama
I'm gonna take good care of him.
Me and Jim getting thin;
oh, fare-thee-well to him
but there ain't nowhere to run
for the oldest living son.
The back of my hand
started looking like a man's
way back when I was only ten.
Still, the lonesome in me cries
like a little boy sometimes;
you can hear it scream when I come out
screaming like the wind.
(Spoken:)
Now, our dad was a gentle man
when we all worked at the store
and the only time I saw him made
was when he talked about the war.
He lost a boy at Belleau Wood
and I guess he never understood
what the medals from the President were for.
